[Laughter]
Hoyt: How did you feel about that?
Spool: How did I feel? To be perfectly honest, it stung. For all the girls, not just me. She wasn’t the best dancer. But she was the most beautiful.
Hoyt: Did she get along well with the other girls?
Spool: No, not really. She was awkward.
Hoyt: Awkward?
Spool: Yeah, like she never really knew how to just be herself. She was always shape-shifting, trying to be what she thought others wanted her to be. Trying to portray whatever image it was that served the situation. But she got more confident after she met Daniel.
Hoyt: And where did they meet?
Spool: I have no idea, to be honest. Skinny. Acne. It shocked all the other girls that they were dating, but not me, not after I saw the two of them together. They made so much sense. He was a lot like her. Studious. Artsy. They really loved each other. [Laughter] I mean, the way we do when we’re seventeen. Kid love. Although, at thirty-nine, with three kids and twelve years of marriage, I’m starting to think that that, in fact, is what real love is. This? This is work. Am I talking too much? I’m not sure I’m answering your questions.
Hoyt: You’re doing fine.
Spool: Well, anyway, the show was doing great. Winnie had Daniel. She had me. And then her mom died. And—
Hoyt: Yes?
Spool: And then things, well— Look, you guys contacted me to ask if you could interview me, and I’m happy to help. I have three sons. I seriously can’t imagine what she’s going through. But I’m afraid to say the wrong thing.
Hoyt: Try not to worry about that. We’re just gathering facts.
Spool: She went crazy. I mean, who wouldn’t? Losing your mom so young. It was horrible. This freak accident, which nobody could explain. Her brakes go out, just as she’s driving down a hill? It was so strange. On top of that, the guy was back. Archie Andersen.
Colette pauses. Yesterday, Francie mentioned in an e-mail that Winnie had a stalker, wondering if he had any contact with Winnie since her Bluebird days.
Spool: He’d disappeared for several months, after the restraining order was issued, but then he showed up at her mom’s funeral, making a huge scene, wailing at the front of the church. It was a lot for her.
Hoyt: Are you all right?
Spool: It’s just so sad. Winnie and her mom were so close. Like, the kind of relationship every young girl wants to have with her mother. And then, poof, she was gone. Winnie started to have panic attacks. Terrible crying fits. It reminded me of my stepmom, actually.
Hoyt: Your stepmom?
Spool: She had just given birth to my half sister at the time. She’s, let’s say, a number of years younger than my dad. She went nuts afterward. Crying. Unable to sleep. She was eventually hospitalized for a while. Postpartum psychosis.
Hoyt: And how did that remind you of Winnie?
Spool: Well, Winnie, she— She wasn’t herself. And then the incident happened.
Hoyt: Tell me about that.
Someone is knocking on the copy room door. Colette thrusts the papers back into the folder and hastily shoves it in her bag, along with the flash drive. “Hang on,” she says into the thin crack of light between the door and frame. “Last boob, nearly done.” She pulls out her manual pump, unbuttons her shirt to below her bra and opens the door.
It’s Aaron Neeley. “Everything okay?” He lowers his eyes to her bra.
Colette fumbles to rebutton her shirt, her face hot with embarrassment. “Yes, fine.”
“We’re waiting for you.”
“Okay, great.” She returns the pump to her bag. “All set.”
Allison shoots Colette an apologetic look as she follows Aaron back to Teb’s office. He’s sitting in his chair, reading a printout of the manuscript, his feet propped on his desk, revealing red-and-white polka-dot socks. Aaron gestures at one of the empty chairs in front of the desk. “Give me a second,” Teb says.
Colette keeps her bag on her lap and glances at Aaron, and then at the wall behind Teb, which showcases a rotating collection of framed photographs of him posing with various celebrities. A few new ones have been added. Teb with Bette Midler. With a young man recently signed to the New York Mets. With former secretary of state Lachlan Raine, who, it was announced earlier this morning, is likely to be nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize for the work his foundation is doing in Syria.
“Cool, huh?” Teb is watching her.
“Very.”
“Met Raine two weeks ago, at my thing at Cipriani’s. He’s raising millions for my campaign, but man, is that guy crazy. No joke, there wasn’t a waitress he didn’t hit on.”
Colette tries to keep her voice breezy. “I’m shocked.”
Teb chuckles. “Yeah, right.” He puts down the final sheet of paper. “Okay, C. I have to be honest. I think we’re going in the wrong direction in a few places.”
She tucks her hair behind her ears, willing herself to appear indifferent. “I understand.” Aaron is looking on with a mixture of boredom and weariness. “Can you be more specific?”
Teb leans back in his chair and studies the ceiling. “The first book. Who did that reviewer compare my writing to?” he asks Aaron.
“‘Prose like Hemingway. Wit like Sedaris,’” Aaron says.
Colette scoffs. “To be honest, Teb, that was a little much.”
“Fine, but this one? It’s not going to wow anyone.” He looks at Aaron. “Right?”
Aaron blows out a long puff of air. “Yes, sir, I have to agree. I get that we’re asking you to write quickly, Colette, but we can’t settle for something mediocre. Not with the expectations the mayor set with his first book.”
“Okay.” She nods. “Let’s go through it.”
For the next hour, she tries to focus on what they’re asking of her, but she’s distracted by the weight of the folder in her bag—what if Teb has already gone through it? What if he’s seen her membership form? By the muted television in the corner, set to NY1. Colette can’t keep her eyes away, and eventually she sees a photo of Bodhi Mogaro flash across the screen, the photo the police must have provided to the press—the same photo she has at home, in the folder under the couch. Yemeni man in custody for trespassing, possible connection to Midas Ross abduction. She feels a flood of relief when Allison knocks gently on the door, peeking her head inside.
“Mayor, your next appointment is here. They’re waiting in 6B. I’ve set you up with lunch.”
“Great, thanks, Allison.” Teb straightens the papers and hands them across the table to Aaron before reaching to check his phone. “This was helpful, right? This will get us all back on track?”
“Absolutely,” says Aaron.
Colette gathers her computer and notebook, sliding them inside her bag next to the folder. She walks into the lobby, where one of the young assistants from the press office is leading a public tour, pointing out the art on the walls, guiding the crowd to the large bay window offering a view of the Brooklyn Bridge. Colette snakes through them to the bathroom, waiting just inside the door, watching the hall to Teb’s office. When she sees Teb and Aaron heading to their next meeting, she walks toward Allison, who’s on the phone at her desk. “I think I dropped my wallet in there,” Colette whispers.
Allison waves her inside. She pretends to inspect the floor around the chair she’d occupied, and then beside Teb’s desk, guiding the folder back into its place.
She waves good-bye to Allison, pressing the button at the elevator. Two women scoot inside just before the doors close, coffees and lighters in their hands.
“They say he’s from Yemen. A Muslim,” one says to the other, in the raspy voice of a longtime smoker. “That can’t be good.”
The other woman shakes her head. “What I want to know is, where’s the mother? Why isn’t she giving any interviews? Only a woman with something to hide would refuse to speak to the press.”
The women both look at Colette. She smiles and pushes the button for the lobby, her heart thudding, her bag pressed against her chest, the flash drive still inside.
Chapter Nine
Night Four